The Lightning Struck Tower
by aroguefidelius
Summary: Three young witches and wizards from wildly different backgrounds come together in their seventh year at Hogwarts in order to investigate a mysterious occurrence.
1. Subchapter One - Marlene

**Author's Note:** _I've never published anything here before, so I'm quite nervous about posting this sub-chapter. I've divided Chapter One into sections of alternating perspectives, but future chapters will be significantly longer. I expect the story as a whole to be quite long, as well, though I can't be sure._

 _Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I'm not the genius who created the Harry Potter universe, whose elements belong solely to J.K. Rowling._

 _ **SUBCHAPTER ONE - MARLENE - AN INTRODUCTION.**_

Up until my eleventh year, I had always considered myself average.

I mean, the stats don't lie.

 **Name: Marlene Rose Johnson**

 _Johnson! JOHNSON! Have you ever heard a more common last name? In primary school, there were seven Johnsons in my year alone, and a Johnson Atkins besides. I suppose the name "Marlene" is a bit dated, but common nevertheless. And a flower! Could my parents BE any more cliché, choosing my middle name based on the symbol of the city where they met? Paris, of course, where all romance appears to happen. All in all, the most boring of names._

 **Physical Description:** **stick straight hair, brown but not too black nor too blonde; medium brown eyes; vaguely ethnic looking, but not to the point of identifiable race; average skin, not pale nor overly tanned; medium build, average weight**

 _Not a single attractive quality, but no particularly unattractive qualities nor remarkable blemishes, either. Essentially indistinguishable from the masses._

 **Interests: Reading, Writing, Maths, Science**

 _All of it, really. Likely to fuel my perpetual, albeit futile, quest for self-actualization._

 **Strengths: None, really.**

 _I'm not dreadful at anything, either, I suppose. All in all, (unsurprisingly) average._

That was before I got the letter, of course. In hindsight, perhaps I should have seen it coming. After all, my emotional reactions had always been a bit…explosive.

Specifically, the summer I turned eight years old, my parents sent me off to sleepaway camp in the woods. It was to be two weeks of pure, unadulterated fun. Swimming, hiking, canoeing, archery, the whole works. However, my parents failed to mention the (still dreaded) Swim Test™. I had (shockingly enough) always been a fair swimmer. I could make it across a pool without drowning, but at a rather lacklustre speed. My counsellor, however, was notoriously bitchy and not at all suited to work with young children, and she rather disagreed with my assessment of my swimming abilities. The nasty woman had the nerve to place me in the INTRODUCTORY SWIMMING GROUP with SIX-YEAR OLDS. Not six seconds after she made the announcement, the swimming hole erupted, ejecting the offending counsellor and launching her six metres in the air, and drenching the gathered campers. The counsellor landed on the hard bottom of the now-empty pool, breaking both of her legs in the process. She never returned to the camp.

I had no way of proving it, of course, but I had always privately taken responsibility for the event.

Three years later, I awoke to an owl rapping at the door, two thick envelopes in its beak.

The first letter was addressed to my parents. We pored over it together, and it was in those fifteen minutes that I first learned of the magical world around me. To their credit, my parents took the information in stride, although I think they found the entire situation a bit madness-inducing.

The second letter was mine, and only mine. It contained loads of useful information about the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, including relevant booklists and instructions on how to get there. I was a bit confused, of course, but on the whole, quite excited. It didn't take long to convince my parents that they should promptly enroll me, although the issue of payment was quite complicated. Apparently, I was to go to a place called Diagon Alley, in which the Wizarding bank was located. There, I would be able to exchange Muggle money for galleons, sickles, and knuts. I was also to purchase all my school materials.

Hogwarts was practical enough to send a representative to my home in Surrey, a sort of Muggle Ambassador, I suppose. She assuaged many of my parents fears and doubts, and assured them that the school was quite real, and they were not the victims of some elaborate television hoax. She was also tasked with chaperoning my first trip to Diagon Alley, and ensuring that I successfully purchased all the necessary supplies. The highlight of the trip was by far our visit to Ollivander's. After three unsuccessful attempts, I was quite pleased with the wand I received, and still am. Made of hard black walnut wood, my wand is 25 centimetres in length and contains a unicorn hair core. I was quite proud when I first placed it in the inner-left pocket of my freshly purchased robes, and couldn't wait to show it to my mates, an action that I soon learned was strictly forbidden.

It was during that visit that I first learned of the Hogwarts house system. My local public school, of course, had similar houses, although we were sorted randomly by the school computer. Then, I had hoped to be sorted into Ravenclaw, although I thought it more likely that I would become a Hufflepuff – certainly my lifetime of average-ness dictated that it would be so.

Back then, I still had a bit of an inferiority complex. I'm not entirely sure that it has ever completely gone away, but I think it was September 1st of 2012, my first day at Hogwarts, when I fully realized that although I might turn out quite average in the Wizarding world, that would never be the case in the Muggle world.


	2. Subchapter Two - Grace

**_GRACE_**

 _Dear Diary,_

 _Mum let me go to Diagon Alley today. I was hoping to see Ella, but I guess she bought her books weeks ago. Or perhaps she hasn't yet. It's been a while since we last spoke, and rightfully so, all considered. Anyway…_

"Gracie! Gracie! Mum says that you have to wash the dishes!"

I sigh. Yet another attempt at relaxation, thwarted by my mother's incompetence. Not that I blame her – it isn't her fault that she's a Muggle, really. It isn't her fault that she can't load the dishwasher, or take out the trash, or wash her (Muggle) clothes effortlessly, and in a matter of seconds.

If anything, I suppose my woes should be blamed on my father, who had abandoned my mother after the birth of their second child, who had only confessed to the existence of the Wizarding World the day I received my Hogwarts letter, who had lied about his occupation and status and bloodline and parents from the day he met her. Even after all that, the bastard still tried to communicate with me, and it was difficult to cut off contact with him. Wizards have a way of finding you, especially when you still have the Trace. Not that I do anymore, thank Merlin. That disappeared last spring, along with my childhood. Or so the Ministry told me. What they fail to understand is that my childhood disappeared seven years ago, the day I got that damn letter. Thanks, Dad.

Anyway, now that the Trace is gone, it's much easier to help Mum around the house. Which is a good thing, as she's already overworked as it is. Between taking care of Lissa and working two jobs, it's a wonder she's managed this long on her own. I feel guilty every September 1st, as I know it can't be easy having me away at boarding school most of the year. On the other hand, that does mean one less mouth to feed. Despite his general arsehole-ness, my father does insist on paying my Hogwarts tuition. Otherwise, I would certainly be unable to attend – and Merlin forbid his magical bloodline die out, even though I am only a half-blood.

Still, I wish I could help Mum out more. I spent all last semester in the library learning household spells.

"I'll be there in just a second, Lissa," I reply, closing my journal and sliding it into my desk drawer. I slip my feet into my sandals and Apparate into the kitchen. I probably didn't _have_ to do that, but I enjoy "practicing" my Apparition whenever I can. After all, I need to maintain my position as top of the class next school year – no easy task, considering the competitive nature of many of my fellow Ravenclaws. I surreptitiously finger the Prefect badge pinned to my left lapel. I was a bit disappointed when I received it in the mail this year, as I'd been hoping to receive the Head Girl badge instead. I suppose it went to one of the other house's 7th year prefects. Perhaps Carly Solo. Headmaster Flitwick is loath to admit it, but we all know that McGonagall still has some influence on his decisions, and she always _did_ favour Gryffindor. I make a mental note to send Ryan an owl. Perhaps he's heard something. After all, he is a Prefect too – and a seventh year, besides. I wouldn't be surprised if he made Head Boy – the little bastard is probably having a laugh right now, keeping information like that from me.

The dishwasher is filled and running in a matter of seconds. I cast a simple spell to speed up the process, and leave it to sit. The wash should be done in a few minutes, when Mum will no doubt expect me to put everything away. I run upstairs to grab my journal. Might as well pass the time finishing today's entry.

 _Dear Diary,_

 _Mum let me go to Diagon Alley today. I was hoping to see Ella, but I guess she bought her books weeks ago. Or perhaps she hasn't yet. It's been a while since we last spoke, and rightfully so, all considered. Anyway, I hope she still doesn't hate me for what happened last year. Maybe she's forgotten already. I mean, it did happen months ago. Well, two months ago. Still. Right. What was I talking about? Oh – Diagon Alley. I went to the second-hand robe store today and bought a new pair of dress robes. My old ones were much too small, so I don't feel too badly about it. I also bought my books for next year's classes. NEWT level classes, I might add. Shite, I can't believe seventh year has almost started. This time next year, I'll have left Hogwarts forever. Well, unless I become a teacher there, I suppose. I'll miss that musty old castle, I suppose, and all the people in it. Including Ella. Especially Ella. Merlin, I hope she still doesn't hate me._

 _-Grace, 15 August 2018_


End file.
